The Text
by traveling-imagination
Summary: John texts Sherlock and an adventure ensues. Pre-Reichenbach, Johnlock. Eventual smut, based on roleplay.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Pick up the milk.

JW

Why?

SH

Because some people need it for their breakfast?

JW

I'm busy, John.

SH

With what? Don't tell me you're watching telly again.

JW

No, that would be dull. I am doing an experiment.

SH

If I find fingers in the toaster one more time, I swear.

JW

That was for a case, John! Besides, you pass the store on the way home, you could get the milk yourself.

SH

Ever think I may also be busy?

JW

Doing what?

SH

The case you sent me to work on!?

JW

Oh. That was a distraction to get you out of the flat.

SH

Right. So you could do your "experiments."

JW

I can do my experiments whenever I want!

SH

Fine, I'll get the milk.

JW

You could have decided that before wasting all this time texting.

SH

I understand. I'll be home soon. Try not to blow up the flat. Anything else we need while I'm out?

JW

You may need to buy yourself a jumper.

SH

Why would I need to do that?

JW

Well, one of yours has been… damaged.

SH

What did you do?!

JW

Now John, don't get mad. This time it really was an accident.

SH

How do you accidentally ruin a jumper?

JW

By grabbing the first available item and use it to put out an acid fire.

SH

How did you manage to start an acid fire in the flat?

JW

Vinegar, a match, an eyeball, some choice chemicals.

SH

Remind me to stop asking.

JW

You should know what I do by now.

SH

Did you learn anything from your experiment?

JW

Don't use your flatmates jumper?

SH

Anything else you need?

JW

Go to Scotland Yard and check if Lestrade has any more cases.

SH

I thought you were working a case…

JW

Tedious, simple.

SH

I'm sure he would call you if anything came up.

JW

I'm bored John.

SH

I'll be home soon, try not to give Miss Hudson a heart attack.

JW

I told you to go to Scotland Yard!

SH

I told you Lestrade will call if something comes up!

JW

I'm sitting in my chair with a gun pointed at the wall. Go to Scotland Yard.

SH

What do you have against the wall?

JW

Nothing. It is simply an easy target.

SH

I'll stop by Scotland Yard. Anything else you need?

JW

A kiss?

SH

Very funny, Sherlock.

JW

Did I tell a joke?

SH

Wasn't that a joke?

JW

Not really.

SH

Oh.

JW

So…?

SH

I though you didn't care for such things.

JW

Well, finishing the case gave me an adrenaline rush.

SH

I see. But why does it necessarily have to be from your flatmate. I'm sure Molly would be more than happy.

JW

I told you. Women are not my area.

SH

Yes, but asking something like that is a bit strange.

JW

Dammit, do I have to kiss you through the phone in order to get anywhere?

SH

So thr's a cdase that ypu might be intrestd in.

JW

Alright. Is your spell check not on?

SH

Its not working propjerly. I'll tell you the dteails on thw case when I gwet nack.

JW

I could get you a new phone if yours is broken.

SH

That isn't the problem here… the kill is.

JW

*Kiss! My auto-correct is working again.

JW

… So what is the case about?

SH

It's easier to explain in person.

JW

Fine.

SH

I miss you.

SH

You're just bored.

JW

I'm only bored when you're not here.

SH

Thanks.

JW

I'm trying to make a point, John.

SH

I think I got the point.

JW

Do you really? You're not the most luminous of people. But you have proven your capabilities as a conduit. In that sense you are quite unbeatable.

SH

Again, thanks.

JW

Just come back to the flat already so I can tell you that I love you face to face!

SH

Oh, dear.

SH

… You're awfully direct.

JW

I didn't mean to be so direct in a text. Why couldn't you have deduced it?

SH

Well, I sort of assumed so. Like when you wanted a kiss.

JW

You never kissed me back.

SH

[A few minutes later]

*kiss*… There.

JW

My, you are rather cute. Gathering up courage for a virtual kiss.

SH

You shouldn't call a man cute.

JW

I'm Sherlock Holmes and you are my blogger. I have every right to call you cute.

SH

Touché.

JW

So how long until you get home?

SH

Soon. I have the paperwork for the case.

JW

Good. What are you going to call this one?

SH

The Naval Treatment. You'll see why.

JW

Ooh. I'm excited now.

SH

Are you sure I'm the cute one?

JW

Are you trying to flirt, John?

SH

No. Just stating the facts.

JW

I've taught you well.

SH

…Yeah…

JW

Do you know that you're irreplaceable, John?

SH

What has gotten you into such a… romantic mood?

JW

That's your fault, although I don't blame you.

SH

My fault yet you don't blame me?

JW

It is very hard for me to blame you. I don't know why. Is that not good?

SH

I'm home.

JW

* * *

AN: The next chapter will not be in text format, the story will continue in regular format.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sherlock looked up from his screen, smiling. "So John is that not good?" he asked again.

The doctor blushed then cleared his throat. "Well I wouldn't call it … bad." He shuffled uncomfortably before changing topics. "So other than doing experiments, what did you do today?" He asked while hanging up his coat.

"As I said before, I burnt your jumper with an acid fire and shot the wall again," said Sherlock looking unbothered.

"Oh, alright." John replied simply, handing the paper work over to the other. "You wanted this?"

Sherlock looked at him intensely for a moment before saying "No, I want to fix the mistake I made earlier."

The blond man held his hands up in protest. "There's no need for that," he answered quickly, knowing what the detective meant.

Sherlock ignored his flatmate and pulled him in close. "I told you I wanted to say it face to face. I love you… John Watson."

He blushed again, standing there awkwardly. "…Sherlock…"

The man in question looked down at his friend. "Problem?"

"…Well … no, not really…" said John, avoiding eye contact.

Sherlock smiled, leaning closer to the doctor. "So how long will it take you to kiss me this time? I believe it took you twenty minutes last time." He teased.

He laughed nervously. "It's so like you to keep track of something like that."

Sherlock chuckled, nuzzling the top of John's head. "I simply observe." He said quietly.

At this John looked up, his blush darkening. "I've noticed." Their eyes locked.

With an even broader smile than the one he'd had at Buckingham Palace, Sherlock leaned even closer to John so that he was barely a hair's length away. John's frame shook before he gathered all of his courage and kissed Sherlock. He broke the kiss shortly afterwards.

"There. It wasn't twenty minutes this time." He grinned.

"No, it took you seven seconds this time." Sherlock chuckled, gently caressing his flatmate's neck. He hugged him even tighter, humming. "What would I do without you?"

"You would do your own cases." John replied smirking.

"But who would write them up?" Sherlock asked feigning a shocked expression. "I'd be lost without my blogger," he added quietly.

"You make my blog so much bigger than it really is," the army doctor smiled, a bit embarrassed by the complement.

"But some of our most interesting cases come from people who read your blog," Sherlock assured him.

John then nodded. "Well we do get clients because of it," he admitted.

They stood there for a while, Sherlock smiling more than he'd had in a month. "By the way, did you get the milk?"

John smiled. "…We don't really need milk, do we?"

"Well it was your idea in the first place, you decide." The dark haired man kissed John's forehead gently, content with standing in their simple embrace.

Of course they were interrupted by their landlady Mrs. Hudson walking in.

"MRS. HUDSON!" Sherlock yelled. "Knock before you come in." The landlady looked between the two men, confused by their current position.

John stood there, eyes wide in shock. "I-I… this-we..." He tried desperately to explain but had no excuse prepared beforehand.

Seeing John's distress, Sherlock jumped in. "It's an experiment Mrs. Hudson. We're analyzing the extent of body heat transmission. It's a process that I don't want disturbed." He added, trying to be polite.

"That's right!" the shorter man stated, glad that Sherlock was quick on his feet.

Giving one last confusing glance at her tenants, Mrs. Hudson left. Sherlock turned back to his blogger. "So how do you like the difference between virtual kisses to real ones?" He asked playfully.

"Its …uh…" John struggled to find the words, "…different." He said innocently.

The dark haired man pouted. "I was expecting a better response. Maybe we need to… experiment… some more?" He suggested, smirking.

Before John could answer he swooped down for another kiss. John made no effort to protest, letting a small moan escape his throat. As Sherlock deepened the kiss he led them over to the couch, pulling John down beside him. He broke the kiss for a single moment, "I do love you, I really do." He switched to kissing the man's neck.

The doctor's laugh sounded almost like a giggle although he would never admit it. John's awkwardness returned when he noticed that Sherlock had been the one confessing and he hadn't said anything in return. "I love you too." He blushed.

Hearing these words the detective's eyes lit up and he wrapped John in a hug so tight that it would take hours to separate them. He buried his face into John's shoulder. "Thank you… thank you so much."

"Sherlock?" John questioned.

"It's just that I've never loved anyone before. I don't know what to do." In truth confessing to John had taken all of the detective's energy and composure away from him. The doctor smiled and pet Sherlock's brown curls. "What an honour to be loved by the world's greatest detective," he teased.

Sherlock chuckled again. "And it's an honour to be loved by a war hero."

"So um … forgive me for asking, but when did you realize?" John asked.

"That I loved you? Probably when you giggled at the crime scene."

"I did not giggle," was John's first retort. "I couldn't help it; the way you work is amazing."

The detective twinned his hand into John's. "Almost as amazing as you shooting that cabbie through a window, which was a good crack shot by the way,' he added. Then he started giggling hysterically.

"What?" John chuckled, holding onto Sherlock's hand.

"I was just thinking about how you had nerves of steel when you shot the cabbie, but when I confessed to you, you acted like a nervous Nellie," he explained.

John huffed, slightly annoyed by the passing comment, but brushed it aside knowing it wasn't meant to be an insult. He pushed himself out of the detective's grasp and stood up, walking towards the kitchen. "Tea?"

"Alright, you make tea, I'll be right back." Sherlock quickly headed to his room looking determined.

"Oh! Sherlock, what sort of tea?!" John called from the kitchen sounding a bit concerned, he knew that face all too well.

"Rosehip!" Sherlock yelled back. There were the sounds of rummaging that followed. John made the tea feeling a bit nervous as a teen would with their crush. He returned to the living room with both teas in hand. Minutes later the dark haired man reappeared with something in hand. John raised an eyebrow at the other in a questioning look.

"It's one of my old shirts," Sherlock said pulling a red, silk button-up shirt. "It doesn't fit me anymore, but it should be perfect for you,' he smiled. "This is a good replacement for the jumper, right? You need more button-ups anyway…"

"Oh, thank you," John said calmly. "Tea's ready," gesturing for Sherlock to take his.

"I want you to wear it," the taller man insisted.

"I'm already clothed, Sherlock," the blond chuckled.

"No, now!" said Sherlock marching forward and started to pull on the doctor's jumper.

"Not now, Sherlock," he protested. "You'll make me spill the tea!" Turning his back on his eccentric flatmate, John put the tea down on the table next to his chair. "Besides, I'm too tired from doing all that running around for you. Most of which I didn't do, but you know what I mean."

"But I want you to wear it!" Sherlock almost whined. "And how can you be tired from not running around?" he continued yanking on the knitted wool.

"Sherlock!" John yelled in annoyance. "I was occupied thinking of you! Of course I'd be tired!" Realising what he had just said, he sat down and blushed; he picked up his own tea cup and stared into it to keep from looking at Sherlock.

"Thinking about me…?" Sherlock repeated blankly. He walked up behind John's chair, wrapping his arms around his friend's shoulders. "What do you think about?" he asked innocently.

"I think you should drink your tea," he grumbled, looking back up at Sherlock.

Huffing indignantly, Sherlock strutted over to his chair after picking up his own cup. He flopped down into it, crossing his arms and balancing the cup on his knee. After a moment he spoke up. "Did you know that you're the only one who could make me speechless," he sounded half impressed, half annoyed.

John smiled. "That has to be the best compliment I have ever gotten."

Sherlock sipped his tea. "What if I didn't mean it as a compliment?" he asked quietly, but there was a playful spark in his voice and a smile tugging his lips.

"It wasn't?" he questioned with the same playful attitude.

"Maybe, maybe not. Why don't you deduce it?" He put his tea aside, folding his hands under his chin.

"That's your thing," John replied.

"Well, now my thing is this…" he swiftly stood up, crossed the small distance between their chairs, leaned down and gently brought their lips together once more.

John smiled into the kiss then moved in closer. Pleased with this reaction Sherlock began sucking on John's bottom lip lovingly. He leaned as close as he possibly could to the other. It was amazing he could keep his balance in such an awkward position. John softly ran his tongue against Sherlock's bottom lip, asking for an entrance. He felt like he should be as nervous as ever, but he was surprisingly calm.

Sherlock jumped slightly at the feeling of John's tongue, but he allowed access. His breathing became heavier when their tongues intertwined. A small moan escaped John's throat as he threaded his fingers through the detective's hair. Sherlock wanted to melt, how could John know that his one weakness was someone playing with his hair? John noticed Sherlock's distress from the awkward position and broke the kiss, panting lightly.

"J… John," the raven haired gasped. "Where… where are we going with this?" his arms started shaking lightly.

"I don't know… deduce it, Sherlock."

"Your pupils are dilated and your breathing is shallow, so is mine. My body has a tremor…" he swallowed to dampen his dry throat. "I think I may be hyperventilating," he added.

"You're not hyperventilating," John breathed out patiently. "But you're panicking?" he questioned.

"No!" the detective cried. "Sherlock Holmes doesn't _'panic'._"

"I'm sure," John laughed.

Glaring, the consulting four year old turned around and lowered himself to the ground. He arranged himself so that his back was leaning against John's legs. John mumbled "childish" to himself, putting his arms around Sherlock's shoulders. "You should know more than anyone that panicking is normal, you've seen me do it… many times."

"Well you're the one who came when I said it would be dangerous," Sherlock laughed. "You knew what you were signing up for."

"Not necessarily…" he chuckled, "I thought you were a mad man for a long while."

"Most people think that…" Sherlock nodded. "But you were the only one who didn't tell me to _'piss off'_."

The shorter man smiled. "Then I must be mad myself."

"No, everyone else is just an idiot," Sherlock reached up and squeezed John's forearm.

"Compared to you? Yes," squeezing back himself.

"Yourself, also," Sherlock craned his neck to get a better look at John. "You're not as much of an idiot as the rest of the bunch."

John leaned down further and kissed Sherlock's forehead for that, making the detective sigh contentedly. "Better than nicotine," he stated.

"Don't tell me you've started smoking again?" John asked, finally noticing the faint smell of smoke. He had first attributed it to the aforementioned acid fire, but his mind brought up other ideas due to Sherlock's comment.

"I just smoked one," Sherlock mumbled unwillingly, "and perhaps another ten."

"Sherlock," the doctor's said with a harsh tone.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"I needed to solve the case quickly," Sherlock defended. He was on his knees now, crouched in front of John, who was still seated in his chair.

"You shouldn't need to smoke to do that," John pointed out rather angrily. "You're brilliant without them."

Sherlock glared, but there was no real heat to it. Not after that compliment.

The doctor sighed, propping his forearms on his knees to level himself with the man kneeling in front of him. "I'm just worried, Sherlock."

"Why would it worry you?" Sherlock asked, genuinely puzzled.

"I'm a doctor, aren't I? You're doctor to be exact," John smiled at his last comment, but quickly turned serious again. "I should know what smoking does to one's system."

"Does this mean you're going to hide my secret supply again?" Sherlock dreaded.

For a moment, John remained silent. "Will I have to?"

Sherlock's face dimmed as he went into a deep thought. "Just throw out the pack I have now and make sure no one in a 2 kilometer radius will sell me any."

A small laugh left John's lips at the rather drastic suggestion. "I can't assure that last one, but if it stops you from smoking I'll see what I can do."

Sighing with a mix of annoyance and relief, Sherlock wrapped his arms around the doctor's waist and leaned head against the man's chest. "Thank you."

"For what?" John asked softly.

"Putting up with me," he mumbled.

The doctor pet the detective's hair way from his face. "You're not that hard to put up with, Sherlock," he smiled.

The two men sat in relative comfort in their embrace, slowly going over the turn both their lives had taken and where it would lead them. Their calm silence was interrupted however by Sherlock's phone going off with a loud ring. Both of them looked over to the illuminated screen on the coffee table only a couple feet away.

"No," Sherlock groaned.

"Sherlock, it could be a case," John said as he fidgeted in his chair. The idea of a new case excited him, he always enjoyed watching Sherlock in the work field. At the same time the blogger didn't want to move away from Sherlock's embrace. "Or it could be Mycroft…" he trailed off. After a couple more rings the phone fell silent.

With a satisfactory nod, Sherlock relaxed back into John's arms. However, he perked up again when the phone let off a single ping. Instead of being annoyed, the detective looked interested. "Mycroft never calls or texts twice in a two minute time span."

"You think it might be a case then?" John asked with a small frown. Sherlock had just finished up a case, and he had gotten him to relax.

Sherlock removed himself from John and got back on his feet, taking two quick strides over to his phone and scooping it up. "Once missed call and a text, both from Lestrade," he announced.

"Well read then," John replied.

Sherlock hummed and continued to read through the message. "The body of a woman was found at a house in Wembley. There were no signs of forced entry and no severe wounds," he read out loud.

"Interested?" John asked. Honestly he found it a little boring, or what Sherlock would call 'dull'.

Grey eyes kept roving over the letters and words on the screen for a few moments longer. As he stood in thought the phone pinged again and another message popped up. "'Witnesses heard her scream, but it was silent after and they thought there was no cause for alarm.'" The blond looked up at his friend with a questioning look, not really understanding a word that was being said.

There was silence between them, then…

"COME ON, JOHN!"

The consulting detective dragged his flatmate to the door, throwing him a jacket and snatching up his own coat.

"Wait, wait! What? Where are we going?" the doctor stumbled out the door trying to obtain some sort of idea with what was going on.

"MURDER, JOHN! Sherlock grinned like a kind in a candy store. He grabbed the doctor's hand and pulled him down the stairs, onto the street and into a cab.

"I'm going to want more information, Sherlock," John stated while sitting down in the cab with his detective.

"Simply because the body has no severe wounds does not mean that there are no wounds. Of course Anderson is probably on forensics, he's stupid enough to miss anything," he rambled, a distant gaze on his face. He still hadn't released the doctor's hand.

John laughed quietly. "So where are we off to?"

"The crime scene in Wembley," Sherlock answered. He squeezed John's hand as the cab rolled through the streets.

"Obviously," he replied in the same tone Sherlock would use. He responded to the pressure with his own squeeze.

Hearing his tone, Sherlock turned in his seat to face the blond. "Did I annoy you?" he asked curiously.

Smiling, John shook his head. "You're fine."

Sherlock adjusted himself some more, shifting a fraction closer to his flatmate. "I am rather new to this…"

"Well, I'm sure you've noticed but I'm no good at these things either," John said. He thought back to the other relationships he'd had and how most of them ended because of the detective beside him, he huffed a laugh at that.

It didn't take much deducing to know what John was really referring to and Sherlock bristled. All the women John had dated before today. He promised himself that _this _relationship would work, he would make sure of that. Besides, he could not live without John.

"I don't think this will end the way the other ones did," John went on. "After all, most of them were because of spending too much time with you. But in this case, I don't see that being a problem." It was a rather horrible attempt to flirt.

"Because now all your time will be spent with me," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

"Sounds good with me," John nodded.

There was a small grin on the detective's face, but he hid it by staring out the window. Just in time to see the crime scene roll up. "We're here!" he burst out of the vehicle with a hurried and excited gate. Leaving John to pay the cab and follow behind the detective.

In barely a couple strides Sherlock was at the police tape. "Afternoon Lestrade," he greeted the inspector, not even stopping and walking past dismissively.

The grayed haired looked up from his mobile with a wave and moved to follow the taller man.

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder, looking past the inspector. "Come on, John." With that he disappeared into the door of the ground floor flat.

John nodded respectfully to Lestrade as he moved past him to follow Sherlock into the crime scene.

The crime scene was laid out perfectly for the consulting detective. He analyzed the entire room before walking the perimeter of the scene, stopping every now and then. "John could you inspect the body?" he said after some more silence, gazing at the body from a distance.

John stepped forward to do his job, snapping on some latex gloves. The victim was slouched in a chair, head lolling back. He found himself a tad uncomfortable due to the lifeless eyes staring up at him. Moving closer to the body, looking more carefully. "My first guess would be asphyxiation, but…" he gently touched around the face and neck, "there is no bruising on the neck. Her hair is wet, but her clothes aren't. Nothing else is wet." The doctor turned around to look at the others in the room. "If it was a drowning, why isn't everything drenched? There would have been a struggle and there is no consistent bruising either. However there is a small bump on the hairline, a single blow to the head, not even that serious. This is probably staged?" He meant to say it as a statement, but at the last moment he made it a question. John felt rather impressed with himself so far, but had a good feeling Sherlock would show him up. After all, that man was the best.

There was a small grin on the dark haired man's lips, it was hard to tell if it was pleasing or patronizing, especially when he began to talk. "Rather well, John. You didn't miss too many important details. You are right in guessing that this is staged. However, you missed the fact that there are wet pajamas in the hamper and also there is a slight swelling on her little finger. We must also remember the victim screamed. Putting the facts together, we get this explanation: someone drugged our victim then attempted to stage a slip in the shower. It is difficult to tell what happened first though…" his voice drifted off, falling deep into thought.

John mentally slapped himself for missing the obvious details, he was a doctor he should be able to find a wound! "Anything else?" he asked, assuming there was more.

"How long has she been dead?" Sherlock asked quickly, taking out his phone.

"Nearly nine hours," Lestrade called out.

It was difficult to tell if the detective had heard, he kept mumbling to himself. "Body's much too stiff… rigor mortis is still premature… the poison could have paralyzed her muscles…" Then he spoke up clearly, turning to leave the room. "Have the corps sent to Bart's, I need more data. I hope you told the cab to stay on the street, John."

Feeling a bit guilty, the blond shook his head. "No, I paid him then he left. I assume we'd be here a little longer."

"Hmm," Sherlock looked slightly annoyed. "Well then, we'll walk."

With the detective leading the way, they both left the crime scene behind them. As the two men made their way through the streets Sherlock continued muttering to himself under his breath. "Moved body… access to poison… paralysis…" He wasn't even paying attention to where he was going and almost walked onto the busy London street.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, trying to catch the man's attention before it was too late. He grabbed the thick wool of the Bell staff and pulled his partner back to safety.

Completely oblivious, Sherlock whirled to face John, gripping his shoulders. "Did you see any bruising around the puncture wound?"

"What? No… No! But I almost saw you get hit by a bloody car!" the shorter man barked in annoyance.

"How? How!?" Sherlock paced the ground agitatedly. "She was a rainforest zoologist… going places…" He froze mid step. "OH!"

John turned his back on the detective with the goal of calming himself, ignoring the idiot's excited exclamations behind him. "How does the world greatest detective almost get hit by a car?" he growled, turning back around. "The one person who pays attention to all detail missed that he was just about to die?" The doctor's voice grew more concerned and troubled as he went on, finishing with anger in his voice.

"What does it matter?" Sherlock looked put out. "I'm still alive and I have nearly solved a case!"

Clenching his teeth to prevent further ranting, the doctor followed. Their walk continued on towards St. Bartolomeo's Hospital in a rather stony silence that Sherlock didn't notice until they were just outside the door to the labs. The curly haired man stopped in his tracks.

"You were worried about me," he seemed shocked.

The blonde's shoulders hunched awkwardly as he stared at the middle of Sherlock's back. "Well, yes. I'm always worried about you, Sherlock."

Slowly turning back around to face John, Sherlock tried his best to look apologetic. "I am sorry," he muttered, leaning forward and gently kissing John's forehead.

Smiling, John gave Sherlock a brief hug. "It's alright," he said, locking gazes with the detective. "Maybe I just worry too much."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The clean, orderly laboratory was a pleasing sight for the detective. Even more so when his attention was drawn to the vials and folders on one of the desks.

"Oh, good, the victim's blood sample," Sherlock grinned and hurried over to the table to start puttering away with his equipment.

John followed the other man, absently picking up one of the files and leafing through it. He watched as Sherlock worked and after a couple long minutes he spoke up. "Sherlock, when did you last eat?"

"I had tea with you a few hours ago," the detective answered absent mindedly. He lifted on of the chemical tubes to the light, searching for a reaction.

"It is almost seven o'clock, Sherlock. You need to eat," John pressed. "Doctor's orders," he added with a smirk when he received no answer.

"You can eat, I can think." Sherlock didn't appear to be listening very attentively.

John sighed, Sherlock was in his element and he probably wouldn't get him to listen until he was finished. "After then?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes," Sherlock said excitedly, looking through a microscope, "snakes. Just as I thought."

John wasn't sure if the detective had answered his request, but the man's words had peaked his curiosity. "Snakes?" he questioned, hoping for elaboration.

"It was a snake poison that paralyzed her. I need to do a couple more test before I make a final conclusion on the real cause of death."

"Well I'm going to get coffee. Would you like one?" John asked.

"Black, with some sugar, please. I'll be here." Was the curt response.

Leaving Sherlock to do his work, the doctor left the lab and walked through the halls. It wasn't that far a walk to the coffee machine, though the bland coloured walls and washed out lights made the hallways seem a bit longer than perceived. As John drew level to the coffee dispenser, he saw someone standing by it. It was Molly.

"Hello."

"John?" Molly looked up, seeming to be a bit startled.

"Long shift?" he asked with a gentle smile.

"I was just grabbing something to drink before I headed home. Are you here with Sherlock?"

For some reason the typical question made John rather flustered. "Yes, it's for a case. We have a new case. He's in the lab right now."

"Oh, so Sherlock kicked you out of the lab while he works? He used to do that with me," Molly said rather sadly.

"Ah, no. I'm just getting us coffee," John explained. "Although that could count as being kicked out," he laughed to lighten the mood.

Molly giggled at John's words, her smile growing and lighting up warmly. She looked for a moment like she was about to say something, but backed off at the last minute. "Well, I should get going. Say hello to Sherlock for me."

"Oh, alright," the doctor said, lifting his hand in a wave as the scientist left and leaving him to make the drinks. Making sure to add some sugar to Sherlock's he took the drinks in hand and made his way back to the lab.

The detective was right where he had been when John had left him, peering through the microscope. Every couple seconds he would turn to the laptop on the counter next to him and patter away on the keyboard. With a good natured smile on his lips, the doctor made his way over to the working man. "Molly says hello," he said as way of greeting.

Just as John was placing the cups beside the curly haired man, Sherlock let out a loud and very excited exclamation. "Of course! It's completely obvious!" It was so sudden it almost made the blond jump out of his skin and spill the coffee all over the evidence.

"What?" John blurted, his voice in between frazzled and annoyed.

Sherlock twisted in his seat, still blabbering away. "The snake poison that was in the victim's bloodstream comes from a certain species of rainforest snake. I did some research and I was right in deducing she was a rainforest biologist, I was also able to find out that she had a research partner and that they had recently had a rather rough falling out about one of their latest papers." Sherlock grabbed his coat, the movement fast and graceful. "Conclusion, the partner went over to see her and brought some snake poison from their laboratory. There was a small struggle and the victim hit her head, knocking her out enabling the research partner to administer the poison and stage it to look as if she had slipped in the shower and died from a blow to the head to throw us off. They even made two puncture marks just in case the poison was discovered to make the idiot police think that she had merely been bitten by one of her lab snakes."

"They did it to throw us off, but it didn't work on you," was all John could say, already thoroughly impressed.

"It is simply elementary," Sherlock shrugged on his coat, then noticed the cups on the counter next to him. "Oh, thank you." He grabbed one of the drinks and gave John a quick peck on the cheek. "Let's go catch our murderer."

John smiled at Sherlock's actions. "Some date," he mumbled to himself.

Xxxx

The flat was just as they left earlier that afternoon. John saw their half-drunk tea cups and chuckled. It was rather hard to finish any kind of refreshment in this house without something coming up. He noticed the case file he had brought home for Sherlock sitting on the table and snatched it up.

"Do you want to look this over?" he asked, holding out the file for the detective. "Or are you too tired after that last one?" he goaded.

"As if that case was difficult enough to tire me," Sherlock shrugged and leaned in closer to John, propping his head against the blond's. "The one you brought was dull anyway," he hummed. "It was the janitor."

"You haven't even read it," John argued. "You can't possibly know that."

"There was a copy of the file on Lestrade's desk when we went to tell him about the research partner. I had a quick look at it," Sherlock explained, nuzzling into his flatmate's short tresses.

"Then why did you want to come back here?" John asked, tossing the file back onto the table and leaning closer to Sherlock.

"Because we eat here, live here, sleep here," Sherlock muttered quietly, rocking back on his heels a bit.

John smiled, wrapping an arm loosely around the taller man. "Well, when you say it like that it sounds dull."

"It's not that dull it you're here," came a slightly grumpy sounding answer.

"Because me watching James Bond, blogging and making tea isn't dull," John joked.

"Well, yes that is rather dull," Sherlock agreed. "But sometimes you're not so dull, you can be unpredictable in some situations," he assured, moving his head back so that he could look John in the face.

"Why thank you, Sherlock. I think it goes without saying, but I do not find you dull at all," John smiled, a teasing tone in his voice.

"I do frown on living a pedestrian life after all," Sherlock huffed dramatically, going back to nuzzling John's cheek. "What shall we do now?" he asked after a while.

"I suppose we have to keep you entertained somehow," John sighed, raking his brains for ideas.

"Yes, it is very dangerous for me to get bored," Sherlock mused. The detective's words immediately brought images of bullet holes, failed experiments and other incidents to the doctor's mind.

He laughed. "I've noticed. Unfortunately I couldn't save my jumper from the wrath of your boredom," he stated in a playful tone.

Sherlock sighted in annoyance. "I have already told you, that was an accident," he frowned. "I also gave you a shirt to replace that one, which you still need to try on," he added with emphasis.

"Fine, I'll wear it," John conceded, then an idea popped into his head. Wrapping his arms around the other's neck, the blond brought Sherlock down into a chaste kiss. "But you have to help me."

"How?" Sherlock asked, puzzled.

John stared at the man in his arms. Dumfounded.

Rather put off by his boyfriend's stare, Sherlock slowly withdrew himself from John's arms and went over to where the shirt had been discarded earlier. He picked it up and walked back over to the blond, still feeling rather awkward. He held it out for the man.

"Here," he offered.

Although that hadn't exactly been what John had meant for Sherlock to do, the doctor decided to let it slide and took the shirt from the detective. As he took of his current jumper, Sherlock flopped down on the couch. John wanted to laugh at the man, he really was an overgrown child. Looking down at himself, John noticed his sleeves were a bit too long for his arms. It was still a nice shirt though. He joined Sherlock on the couch.

Wordlessly Sherlock opened his arms and John gladly went closer for a hug. It was a silent 'I love you' between the both of them. Eventually, Sherlock tipped his weight enough until they were both lying down on the sofa. "Now this is comfortable," he said softly.

John hummed in agreement, his head nestled on Sherlock's chest.

"Can we stay like this for a while longer?" Sherlock asked. "We didn't get much of a chance last time."

"I haven't a problem with that," John murmured, a quirk in his lips.

Arms tightened ever so slightly in comfort. For many long minutes they laid together, listening to their breathing and the sounds on the street outside. It was rather meditative and calming. Sherlock's fingers gently trailed across John's back in a mindless pattern.

"So what shall we do tomorrow?" the detective asked into the silence.

John's mind had slowed down in the calming atmosphere so it took him a moment to answer. "Sleep?" he suggested.

"Sleeping's boring," was all the other man stated. Absent mindedly, he nuzzled his cheek against the crown of John's head as he spoke.

Feeling this, John looked up and the two of them found themselves almost nose to nose. There was only a moment of hesitation on Sherlock's part before he leaned further into John and gently kissed his lips. With a content sigh, John pressed into the kiss as well, his eyes falling shut. Sherlock's lids soon fell too and he pulled them closer together, until there was almost no room for air between their bodies.

Trying to take it just a bit further, Sherlock deepened the kiss. His tongue gently running along the seam of John's lips, pushing softly. Though a bit surprised by Sherlock's actions, John opened his lips to the other with a quiet moan. Sucking lightly on the blonde's tongue, Sherlock responded with his own throaty moan, his hands fisting the back of John's new shirt.

John's hands began traveling around as well, making their way up into Sherlock's hair. When the deft fingers touched the man's scalp, Sherlock sucked in a quick gasp and pulled away from the kiss in favour of tilting his head into John's hand. Noticing the reaction, John tighten his grip ever so slightly on the man's locks. The following reaction was rather pleasing for the doctor as Sherlock let out another moan and pressed close to him. He smiled, but soon dropped the grin when the detective reinitiated their kissing.

Their motions were becoming more active as they pressed against each other. All throughout, their kiss remains unbroken. Soon John was beginning to feel rather light headed, but he ignored it. Sherlock was also feeling the burning from lack of oxygen. Not wanting to lose any contact, he took a sharp breath through his nose and was hit with the strong, hot scent of a certain army doctor. It finally became too much and Sherlock pulled away with a gasp.

"Needed air," he huffed.

John was also rather short of breath. "Yeah, wouldn't want to suffocate. Would we?" His words were breathy and short as his chest rose and fell at an elevated pace.

"How cruel," Sherlock sighed dramatically, "to be separated in such a cruel way."

Snuggling closer, John laughed. "I don't think that we will be separated anytime soon."

Underneath the doctor, the tension in Sherlock's body grew. His shoulder's stiffened and when he spoke, his breath sounded tight.

"What about Moriarty?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_"What about Moriarty?"_

"He doesn't frighten me," John stated firmly.

Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows so that he could look at John more squarely. "You do remember all those things he said at the pool? All those threats of burning and the like? John, with the way things are now, it is the same as if he was referring to you. Hurting you in order to get to me."

"Sherlock, I don't plan on burning. I'm sure you aren't planning on it either," the doctor smiled. He reached up to move a stray hair out of the detective's face. "You shouldn't worry about it. Besides, I can protect you."

"Moriarty could hurt you in order to destroy me," Sherlock said with slow emphasis. "I should take responsibility and protect you," he insisted.

"Look, no one needs to protect anyone from anybody yet, Sherlock. And I don't see Moriarty wasting his time and efforts on me," John assured. "Don't worry about it."

"This is Moriarty we are talking about, John." Sherlock sat up completely now, John falling back into his lap. "The man that strapped bombs to you and other people."

"Yes, I know," John said strongly, trying to get his point across. "But if he tried anything like that again, you would know because you're clever and stop it."

Still looking rather edgy, Sherlock nodded uncertainly. "Alright."

John leaned in to give Sherlock another gentle kiss. "Yes, it's going to be alright," he said, then a mocking smirk appeared. "Besides, you seem more likely to get hit by a car than destroyed by Moriarty."

"That wasn't important," Sherlock retorted. "And it won't happen again."

"How is almost getting hit by a car not important?" John raised his voice. "You could have been injured or worse. Am I not allowed to be afraid for you, is that it?"

There was a slight jerk back in Sherlock's shoulders as if he'd been startled. "Afraid for me?"

"Of course," John huffed. "You're recklessness is going to be the end of you."

"Who cares if I'm reckless as long as I do my job?" the dark haired man retorted. "As long as I can solve the case?"

"Not life threatening wise," John stated quietly. Sadness slowly crept into his eyes as he remembered previous cases where Sherlock had been reckless, where he could have gotten hurt.

Seeing his flatmate's distress, Sherlock leaned closer and tried to comfort him. "John, please don't worry. I'm alive. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. I will never leave you now that I have you."

"Better not," was the childish reply.

To get his message across even further, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and pressed their lips together. When he pulled back he spoke again. "I _will _not. Nothing will take you from me."

"I feel the same way," John kissed him back. "I don't know what I would do if you weren't around."

"You would have a psychosomatic limp, a hand tremor, wouldn't be able to pay full rent and would be completely bored," Sherlock listed off briskly. A smirk tugging at his mouth.

Looking at the man before him with a rather bemused expression due to the response he got, he spoke up innocently. "As incredibly accurate as that was, I didn't mean for you to answer it."

Sherlock raised a brow. "When you're talking with me you will get an answer," he stated obviously.

John rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up," he muttered, deciding to silence the man with another kiss.

Completely okay with this form of silence, Sherlock returned the kiss. It didn't stop him from filing their conversation deep inside his mind palace for later.

John pulled them closer together by burying his fists into Sherlock's shirt, deepening their kiss. Though the dark haired man was enjoying himself immensely, he pulled away to trail short and soft kissed along John's cheeks, slowly moving down to nip at the others neck. Shivering in excitement, quiet moans slipped from the blond's lips. His hands explored along Sherlock's chest, feeling out the angles and curves, wanting to feel more of the other man. Sherlock inhaled sharply when John's warm fingers pushed open the buttons of shirt and come in contact with his warm skin. It was so calming yet exhilarating at the same time. In an attempt to reciprocate the feeling, Sherlock's right hand edged underneath John new shirt, his slender fingers finding their spot in the small of his back and rubbing slow circles on the skin. All the while ensuring the kisses to John's skin never stopped. The doctor's hands continued exploring the pale skin, his fingertips brushed over the other's nipples.

The jolt of arousal from the touches to his sensitive skin startled Sherlock out of his little daze and he quickly stopped his previous administrations and pulled away. "John, wait."

John froze at the serious tone and also backed up slightly, reluctantly moving his hands from the smooth skin. "What's wrong?"

Taking a deep breath that turned into a sigh, Sherlock looked at his boyfriend in the eye. "I think it's best to wait."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but then John's eyes dawned in comprehension and he slowly nodded. "Alright, I understand," he murmured. "But… can I ask…?"

"I just think we should slow down," Sherlock hurriedly explained. "It's not that I don't want to, I don't think it's a bad idea. However, it should be best if we approach this… slowly and smartly."

Again, John nodded slowly, his body relaxing as he pushed what had been the first tingles of arousal to the back of his mind. He could see Sherlock's reasoning and he didn't want to do anything to upset the man.

Underneath him, the detective was in the same mindset. Sherlock gently took John's hands and leaned his head against the man's good shoulder. "I hope I'm not annoying you," he said almost guiltily.

"No, Sherlock," John gripped the hand in his. "Don't think that. Especially when it comes to things like this." He leaned closer to press a comforting kiss to the detective's forehead. "Besides even if you are annoying, I'm still here, right?"

"That's because you're an idiot," Sherlock snickered. "The best idiot I have ever met."

John gave him a small smile. "That was almost a compliment."

"Well, since you are always complimenting my work, it's about time I returned the favour just this once."

The two of them laughed together at that. Leaning against each other in complete comfort. The chuckles eventually died down to be once more replaced by the peaceful silence.

"It's late," Sherlock said after a while. "Should we be turning in?"

"You? Sleep? I didn't think you were capable of that," John joked.

"I think that I am quiet tired after solving nearly three cases, confessing my love, kissing you and you in general," Sherlock stated.

"Alright, alright," John conceded, climbing off the other man. He placed one last kiss into the soft curls. "Good night, Sherlock."

A disappointed look appeared on the detective's face. "I said _we _should turn in," he said again with more emphasis.

"Oh?" It clicked in John's mind, but he tried to hide his excitement. "Won't people talk?"

"Haven't I said that people do little else?" was Sherlock's reply. "I also ruined the heating in your room accidently during my last experiment, it will be cold up there."

"Accidentally?" John asked sceptically. "I suppose I have no other choice," he sighed with a smile.

With a pleased hum, Sherlock stood up from the couch and pulled John into a soft hug that was quickly returned. Arms around each other, the two of them slowly made their way to Sherlock's room. Even when they entered the room, neither broke contact nor said a word. Sherlock simply lead the way over to the bed and pulled them both down onto the mattress.

A huff of laughter was pushed from John's lungs as he landed on Sherlock's chest. He looked up at the taller man, never thinking he was the sort to fall into bed. "Good one," he huffed.

Sherlock just held him closer, his eyes already closed. His hands absent mindedly playing with the material of John's shirt, fisting it between his fingers and smoothing it out.

"I can't fall asleep in this position, you know?" the doctor said in a partially serious tone.

Grunting, Sherlock rolled them over onto their sides. Now their legs were slightly entangled and one of the detective's arms was now trapped between John and the mattress, but he didn't mind. He simply buried his nose into blond tresses and held the man tighter.

"That's better," John said, sighing contentedly at the new position.

A thought bubbled up at Sherlock's head. "Do you want to get into your pajamas?" he thought it was at least proper to ask.

"No, I'm fine," John replied. He then pulled closer so they wouldn't be separated.

As they settled back down on the bed, John jumped when Sherlock started to gently nibble on the blond's ear on a whim. "Stop that," John said, not sounding very convincing to either of them.

But Sherlock complied anyway, instead he rubbed comforting circles across John's back. When he spoke again his tone was quiet and serious. "You still have nightmares," he said, looking down at the man in his arms.

John took a second to organize his thoughts that had become unsettled by the statement. Unconsciously he moved closer to the other, as if hiding from something. "Yes," the answer was simple and quiet. "I'm not going to wake up screaming though," he tried to reassure, a sad smile on his face.

Sherlock hushed softly, running fingers through the man's hair. "Don't worry. I'll be right here for you if it happens. I'll even make you a cup of tea."

John shook his head. "There's no need to do that. You need to be resting instead of watching me all night."

"Oh, I only need a couple hours, I'll be fine," Sherlock said blandly. "Now go to sleep like a good soldier."

"Sherlock," John's voice was stern, "I do not want that. You need your rest as much as I. I would rather you don't harm yourself for my sake."

"Alright, fine," the detective placated. "Can't I just look out for you?" he asked exasperatedly.

"I appreciate the thought don't get me wrong. I'm just trying to take care of you too," John explained.

"Can't we plan out looking-after-each-other time? You look after me when I'm on a case and I look after you so that you don't get nightmares."

"A very good suggestion," John smiled.

"Of course, I came up with it."

John rolled his eyes at the expected response.

"Good night, John," Sherlock sighed. He reached down to the end of the bed and pulled up the duvet over the two of them.

"Good night, Sherlock," the doctor said softly. He settled more comfortably into the soft mattress and the warmth of the man beside him and slowly fell asleep.

Sherlock stayed awake for a couple more hours, watching over this one special person, the one he loved. But even sleep began to tug at the detective's eyes and body. Right before he passed out he mumbled some last words. "I love you, John. I will never let you go."

He didn't. All night he kept the army doctor in in arms and close to his chest.

John's only response was a soft snore.


End file.
